These nine days provide us with a beautiful opportunity to reflect upon the position we give to the Holy Spirit in our lives and to become more attentive to those gifts of the Holy Spirit given to us through our Confirmation.

Isaiah lists the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit as he foretells the coming of the Messiah from the stock of Jesse: ‘And the Spirit of the Lord shall abide upon him: the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and courage, the Spirit of knowledge and of reverence; and the Spirit of awe towards the Lord shall fill him.‘  When we were confirmed, these gifts were bestowed on us  like little seeds planted in the soil.  When we look now at the state of these gifts within us, we no doubt find that some have grown into strong, strapping gifts, producing fruit in due season.  Others might more closely resemble lanky seedlings in desperate need of a larger pot, more light, less competition or more water.

It is possible, too, that we look and fail to see one of these gifts in us.  ’Wisdom?’ we might say, ‘Where is there wisdom in me?’  Well, perhaps ‘in me’ is the wrong phrase, for it is God’s Wisdom that we are given and so this gift of wisdom is developed through prayerfully conforming our minds and wills to God’s.  We try to learn to see as God sees; to discern always what is truly important and then to act accordingly.  This little seedling, like all the others, needs to be nurtured if we are to produce any true leaves, let alone fruit!

In these nine days of prayer, let us take time to thank the Holy Spirit for the gifts we have received and for the fruit produced through our co-operation.  Let us take time to reflect on the state of each of the gifts of the Holy Spirit in our lives and pray that we may develop those gifts so that through us, the Holy Spirit will renew the face of the earth.

Come Holy Spirit,

fill the hearts of your faithful

and kindle in them the fire of your love.
V. Send forth your Spirit, and they shall be created.
R. And You shall renew the face of the earth.

O God, who  taught the hearts of the faithful by the light of the Holy Spirit,

grant that by the same Holy Spirit we may be truly wise

and ever enjoy His consolations.

Through Christ Our Lord.

Amen.

It is written in response to a request from Diognetus, who was  ’exceedingly desirous to learn the mode of worshipping God prevalent among the Christians’ .  The extract that follows is from chapter 5:

Christians are indistinguishable from other men either by nationality, language or customs. They do not inhabit separate cities of their own, or speak a strange dialect, or follow some outlandish way of life. Their teaching is not based upon reveries inspired by the curiosity of men. Unlike some other people, they champion no purely human doctrine. With regard to dress, food and manner of life in general, they follow the customs of whatever city they happen to be living in, whether it is Greek or foreign.

 

And yet there is something extraordinary about their lives. They live in their own countries as though they were only passing through. They play their full role as citizens, but labour under all the disabilities of aliens. Any country can be their homeland, but for them their homeland, wherever it may be, is a foreign country. Like others, they marry and have children, but they do not expose them. They share their meals, but not their wives. They live in the flesh, but they are not governed by the desires of the flesh. They pass their days upon earth, but they are citizens of heaven. Obedient to the laws, they yet live on a level that transcends the law.

Hopefully, we can all identify to some extent with this description.  We know we are ‘only passing through’ but how easy it is to forget!  We can so easily become entangled in the mess of day-to-day life that we can forget our true identity as children of God and forget our ultimate destination as ‘citizens of heaven’.  The troubles of the present moment engulf us and we try to fight our battles alone.

How, then, do we ensure that we continually measure up to Mathetes’ rather impressive portrait?  It is not enough to kneel before the God who made us on a daily basis, anchoring ourselves in prayer before the work of the day begins: we need to be reminded more often than that.  We need to raise our hearts and minds frequently throughout the day.  Simply taking a moment (frequently!) to remember that we are ‘only passing though’ and asking for Divine Assistance on our journey may be enough to retain that ‘extraordinary’ element in our lives that will enable us – as well as those who meet us – to give praise and glory to God.

 My vows I will pay before those who fear him.

The poor shall eat and shall have their fill.

They shall praise the Lord, those who seek him.

May their hearts live for ever and ever!

 

All the earth shall remember and return to the Lord,

All families of the nations worship before him.

They shall worship him, all the mighty of the earth;

Before him shall bow all who go down to the dust.

 

And my soul shall live for him, my children serve him.

They shall tell of the Lord to generations yet to come,

Declare his faithfulness to peoples yet unborn:

‘These things the Lord has done.’

However, without knowing what goes before these final seven verses, we really miss out on what the psalm has to teach us, for this is the psalm that begins, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’  We last heard it (or at least most of it) on Passion Sunday, when it sat between Isaiah 50 and the Philippians’ hymn and then was quoted (in St Mark’s passion) by Jesus as he cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?’ In such a setting, we can see why those last seven verses are omitted at that point in our liturgical year.

I wonder if it puzzled the Jews, to have ‘all who see me deride me’ sharing a psalm with ‘they shall worship him, all the mighty of the earth’?  Now, in the light of the resurrection, we see with clarity the parallel between Jesus’ three predictions of his passion[1] and this psalm of passion, which also ends with the confidence one expects from an Easter people.  The psalm as a whole illustrates for us the indivisibility of Jesus’ passion, death and resurrection.

Although we do not hear the first part of the psalm on Sunday, we know that it is there, and so in praying this second part we remember how privileged we are to live in these ‘latter days’, in Anno Domini.  In the light of the resurrection, we dedicate our souls anew to living for him and telling of the Lord to generations yet to come.

Although he attended to his duties as Archbishop with holy diligence, his biographer Eadmer writes that the administration ‘was something which he could not patiently abide, and he used every pretext to withdraw himself from it so far as he could[1]’

Indeed, when Anselm was ‘harassed by secular business’, he found ‘relief from these trials, finding his chief consolation in burying himself in the cloister with the monks and talking to them of things pertaining to their rule of life… his chief consolation was in such companionship.’[2]

It is delightful to think that this intelligent and talented Saint, who was marked out from an early stage for ‘a higher charge’ found such comfort in friendship and was not afraid to spend a considerable amount of his time and energy nurturing those spiritual friendships.  For Anselm, the time spent in conversation or correspondence with brother monks was not ‘wasted’ time, but a valuable part of his life’s apostolate .

In all humility, he trusted that as his friendships deepened, so too would the relationships between those friends and their common love: God.  We all know that it is easy to take friendships for granted but perhaps St Anselm’s example teaches us that even within the busy-ness of our everyday lives, we should not be afraid to carve out significant time to build up friendships modelled on Love.

St Anselm of Bec, pray for us!

In his Homily for the Easter Vigil, the Holy Father spoke about the Paschal candle as being ‘a light that lives from sacrifice. The candle shines inasmuch as it is burnt up.  It gives light, inasmuch as it gives itself. Thus the Church presents most beautifully the paschal mystery of Christ, who gives himself and so bestows the great light’.  We are drawn into considering how we give ourselves so that the light of Christ might be seen in us by those around us.

There is a holy beauty to the Paschal candle which is beyond words.  However, the great hymn of the Exsultet comes close to describing it and of course this year, the candle’s perfect praises were sung in our new translation for the first time.  One of the more obvious changes to the Exsultet is the reintroduction of this (previously omitted) paragraph, which helps the Exsultet come closer still to conveying that holy beauty of the Paschal candle:

On this, your night of grace, O holy Father, 

accept this candle, a solemn offering, 

the work of bees and of your servants’ hands, 

an evening sacrifice of praise, 

this gift from your most holy Church. 

But now we know the praises of this pillar, 

which glowing fire ignites for God’s honour, 

a fire into many flames divided, 

yet never dimmed by sharing of its light, 

for it is fed by melting wax, 

drawn out by mother bees to build a torch so precious. 

The Pope referred to this paragraph towards the end of his homily, as though recognising that we English speakers could do with a little reflection on what is – to us – a new and unfamiliar part of the Exsultet.  Let’s let him complete for us, then, our reflection:

The great hymn of the Exsultet, which the deacon sings at the beginning of the Easter liturgy… reminds us that this object, the candle, has its origin in the work of bees.  So the whole of creation plays its part. In the candle, creation becomes a bearer of light. But in the mind of the Fathers, the candle also in some sense contains a silent reference to the Church. The cooperation of the living community of believers in the Church in some way resembles the activity of bees. It builds up the community of light. So the candle serves as a summons to us to become involved in the community of the Church, whose raison d’être is to let the light of Christ shine upon the world.

Let us pray to the Lord at this time that he may grant us to experience the joy of his light; let us pray that we ourselves may become bearers of his light, and that through the Church, Christ’s radiant face may enter our world (cf. LG 1). Amen.

Jesus’ body is prepared for burial by Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, then they take it to the tomb that Joseph had purchased for himself.  The others watch, grateful  that these two have taken responsibility for the burial; grateful but amazed.  Joseph and Nicodemus – both members of the Council – had not risked abandoning their positions to follow Jesus while he lived.  They work together to heave the great stone into position then they rest awhile alongside the other mourners.

As a member of the Council, Joseph had ‘not consented to what the others had planned and carried out,’ but now, keeping silent was not enough.  In burying Jesus, he and Nicodemus knowingly threw away any hopes they had of political advancement.  On this day, when the faith of many had failed and hope was sealed in the tomb, charity prevailed among the community of the Crucified Lord.

How often it takes a tragedy to kindle the flame of charity!  Lord, the opportunities for charity abound in my daily life, yet all too often I see them only with hindsight.  Be my vision, Lord, that I may see and seize those opportunities to make your love known.  Like Joseph and Nicodemus, I too can lack the courage to stand up and be counted, fearing the loss perhaps, of something that makes my life so beautiful.  Grant me the courage, Lord, to give myself to you completely because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.  For this, my Jesus, I will live and die.

Mary has been among the faithful following her Son not just along this particular journey but through the journey that announced the Kingdom. She had embraced that Good News as she held within her womb expectantly the Word that God would speak to us. She had embraced that Word made flesh in the Bethlehem stable. She had cared for the child of Nazareth in his little stumblings, nursing, perhaps, a little grazed knee. Now the Son who promised life in its fullness is placed in her arms once again, drained of all life and drained, so it seemed, of all promise and hope. In her sorrow, she is alone although she is at one with her Son. Nicodemus and the Arimathean stand with her in her sorrow and her suffering; the Belovéd and the Magdalene stand with her in her grief and her emptiness. Their hope snuffed out so brutally, all the Mother can do, all those around her can do, is cling to him in his seeming lifelessness.

The world around them begins to walk away. It is all over; their work accomplished as his is now accomplished. Now they must return to whatever awaits them; the community of the Crucified Lord remains at the foot of the cross with the one whom they have followed in life. But they have no time to linger. The sun has set on his life and the sun is setting now on this day.  In haste they must move on and move away.

Lord, in moments of darkness I am tempted to despair. In moments of chaos I am tempted to give in. Let me know the maternal love of your Mother. Teach me to rely on her love and her compassion, learning from her example. Let me find myself being led to you by her guiding hand.

In the strange daytime darkness, the birds stop singing, but the soldiers and mourners at the foot of the cross fail to notice, as their attention is focussed on the face of Jesus as he bows his head and breathes his last.  The heavy silence, empty and still, is broken by the centurion making that unexpected profession of belief: ‘truly, this was the Son of God’.

From a distance Nicodemus gazes upon the face of our crucified Lord, remembering Jesus’ words to him, ‘For God so loved the world that He sent his only-begotten Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.’  He didn’t really understand then and he certainly doesn’t now, but his love of Jesus urges him on.  As his gaze passes from Jesus’ face to Mary’s, he resolves to help her, regardless of the consequences to his social, religious or political standing.

O my belovéd Jesus, here I stand too, at the foot of your cross.  I also gaze on your face, failing to comprehend the Godhead herein hiding.  Like Nicodemus, let love be my guide when understanding fails.  Lord, from the cross you gave us Mary your mother to be our Mother also and so here, I feel her grief as my own.  Lord, pour out your abundant blessing on all parents who grieve for their children and give them peace.

Hands are at work.  The hands that claw and grab at Jesus are hands once created by God in love, yet in their work, they turn against the one who created them.  Although created in love and freedom, these hands are used cruelly now to hold down and nail to the wood of the cross the hands of the One who touched and healed with kindness.  Hands that brought compassion are now racked with pain as nails tear into his flesh. The Word became flesh and lived among us; now this flesh surrenders itself to bitter blows of the hammer.

Yet, as ours were the sorrows he carried, these marks in hands and feet are to become the marks of his tremendous, unconditional love. These are the marks that are to reveal him as the one they crucified, the one who died, yet the one who conquered death. By his wounds, we are healed. In these wounds I find my dwelling place.

Lord, in my unthinking my hands can cause pain for others. My hands can show great kindness and they can be a sign of companionship for those in need; yet they can be the tools that wield so much hurt. As you hold out your hands to embrace the cross and the nail, my I have the courage to reach out towards you. I am carved on the palm of the creator and known to him; may I live always in the knowledge of that love.

The soldiers need to work quickly now and so they pull and tear at our Lord’s clothing simply to get the job done… but then, finding an object of value to them, they pause before removing his undergarment.  ‘Let’s not tear it,’ they say to one another, ‘let’s decide by lot who will get it.’  The pleased lot-winner then eagerly starts to pull it off over Jesus’ head, but it sticks: the pressure of the cross on Jesus’ back and shoulders has made the garment adhere to his torn flesh.  The soldier grimaces, then swiftly strips away the remainder.

We know how to present ourselves to others well enough, yet we know too what we’re truly like and what we keep hidden.  Jesus, the Sinless One felt no need to put on a face or make himself appear to be someone he was not, for he had nothing to hide.  He was authentically holy; the same person on the outside as on the inside; the same in the home as in the market place or the synagogue.  In our lifelong journey towards God, we continually remove obstacles that stand between us.  However, like Jesus’ undergarment, the hidden sins – like envy, pride, resentment, impure or uncharitable thoughts – are delightful to the enemy and are most difficult to remove.

My Lord Jesus, you know me better than I know myself… and yet you love me.  Inspired by this knowledge, I yearn to become evermore worthy of your great love.  Sometimes, I can be deluded into seeing myself as others see me, overlooking my faults and failings which are hidden by my outward appearance.  Grant me the grace to see and confess those hidden sins that adhere so stubbornly to my soul.  Strip me of those sins, that I may draw ever closer to you, my Lord and my God.